'Yes, it's my secret,' Jan replied. He began to move restlessly about the room. 'Nobody knows what I'm like,' he exclaimed excitedly. 'I'm dangerous. They'd better be careful. Everybody had better be careful. I'm dangerous?
Miss Bennett looked at him sadly. 'Richard didn't know how dangerous you were,' she said. 'He must have been surprised.'
Jan went back to the armchair, and looked into it. 'He was. He was surprised,' he agreed. 'His face went all silly. And then – and then his head dropped down when it was done, and there was blood, and he didn't move any more. I showed him. I showed him! Richard won't send me away now!'
He perched on one end of the sofa, waving the gun at Miss Bennett who was trying to fight back her tears. 'Look,' Jan ordered her. 'Look. See? I've put a notch on my gun!' He tapped the gun with his knife.
'So you have!' Miss Bennett exclaimed, approaching him. 'Isn't that exciting?' She tried to grab the gun, but he was too quick for her.
'Oh, no, you don't,' he cried, as he danced away from her. 'Nobody's going to take my gun away from me. If the police come and try to arrest me, I shall shoot them.'
'There's no need to do that,' Miss Bennett assured him. 'No need at all. You're clever. You're so clever that they would never suspect you.'
'Silly old police! Silly old police!' Jan shouted jubilantly. 'And silly old Richard.' He brandished the gun at an imaginary Richard, then caught sight of the door opening. With a cry of alarm, he quickly ran off into the garden. Miss Bennett collapsed upon the sofa in tears, as Inspector Thomas hastened into the room followed by Sergeant Cadwallader.
CHAPTER TWENTY
'After him! Quickly!' the inspector shouted to Cadwallader as they ran into the room. The sergeant raced out onto the terrace through the french windows, as Starkwedder rushed into the room from the hallway. He was followed by Laura, who ran to the french windows and looked out. Angell was the next to appear. He, too, went across to the french windows. Mrs Warwick stood, an upright figure, in the doorway.
Inspector Thomas turned to Miss Bennett. 'There, there, dear lady,' he comforted her. 'You mustn't take on so. You did very well.'
In a broken voice, Miss Bennett replied. 'I've known all along,' she told the inspector. 'You see, I know better than anyone else what Jan is like. I knew that Richard was pushing him too far, and I knew – I've known for some time – that Jan was getting dangerous.'
'Jan!' Laura exclaimed. With a sigh of deep distress, she murmured, 'Oh, no, oh, no, not Jan.' She sank into the desk chair. 'I can't believe it,' she gasped.
Mrs Warwick glared at Miss Bennett. 'How could you, Benny?' she said, accusingly. 'How could you? I thought that at least you would be loyal.'
Miss Bennett's reply was defiant. 'There are times,' she told the old lady, 'when truth is more important than loyalty. You didn't see – any of you – that Jan was becoming dangerous. He's a dear boy – a sweet boy – but –' Overcome with grief, she was unable to continue.
Mrs Warwick moved slowly and sadly across to the armchair and sat, staring into space.
Speaking quietly, the inspector completed Miss Bennett's thought. 'But when they get above a certain age, then they get dangerous, because they don't understand what they're doing any more,' he observed. 'They haven't got a man's judgement or control.' He went across to Mrs Warwick. 'You mustn't grieve, madam. I think I can take it upon myself to say that he'll be treated with humanity and consideration. There's a clear case to be made, I think, for his not being responsible for his actions. It'll mean detention in comfortable surroundings. And that, you know, is what it would have come to soon, in any case.' He turned away, and walked across the room, closing the hall door as he passed it.
'Yes, yes, I know you're right,' Mrs Warwick admitted. Turning to Miss Bennett, she said, 'I'm sorry, Benny. You said that nobody else knew he was dangerous. That's not true. I knew – but I couldn't bring myself to do anything about it.'
'Somebody had to do something!' Benny replied strongly. The room fell silent, but tension mounted as they all waited for Sergeant Cadwallader's return with Jan in custody.
By the side of the road several hundred yards from the house, with a mist beginning to close in, the sergeant had got Jan cornered with a high wall behind him. Jan brandished his gun, shouting, 'Don't come any closer. No one's going to shut me away anywhere. I'll shoot you. I mean it. I'm not frightened of anyone!'
The sergeant stopped a good twenty feet away. 'Now come on, lad,' he called, coaxingly. 'No one's going to hurt you. But guns are dangerous things. Just give it to me, and come back to the house with me. You can talk to your family, and they'll help you.'
He advanced a few steps towards Jan, but stopped when the boy cried hysterically, 'I mean it. I'll shoot you. I don't care about policemen. I'm not frightened of you.'
'Of course you're not,' the sergeant replied. 'You've no reason to be frightened of me. I wouldn't hurt you. But come back into the house with me. Come on, now.' He stepped forward again, but Jan jerked the gun up and fired two shots in quick succession. The first went wide, but the second struck Cadwallader in the left hand. He gave a cry of pain, but rushed at Jan, knocking him to the ground, and attempting to get the gun away from him. As they struggled, the gun suddenly went off again. Jan gave a quick gasp, and lay silent.
Horrified, the sergeant knelt over him, staring at him in disbelief. 'No, oh no,' he murmured. 'Poor, silly boy. No! You can't be dead. Oh, please God –' He checked Jan's pulse, then shook his head slowly.
Rising to his feet, he backed slowly away for a few paces, and only then noticed that his hand was bleeding badly. Wrapping a handkerchief around it, he ran back to the house, holding his left arm in the air and gasping with pain.
By the time he got back to the french windows, he was staggering. 'Sir!' he called, as the inspector and the others ran out onto the terrace.
'What on earth's happened?' the inspector asked.
His breath coming with difficulty, the sergeant replied, 'It's terrible, what I've got to tell you.' Starkwedder helped him into the room and the sergeant staggered to the stool and sank onto it.
The inspector moved quickly to his side. 'Your hand!' he exclaimed.
'I'll see to it,' Starkwedder murmured. Holding Sergeant Cadwallader's arm, he discarded the now heavily bloodstained piece of cloth, took out a handkerchief from his own pocket, and began to tie it around the sergeant's hand.
'The mist coming on, you see,' Cadwallader began to explain. 'It was difficult to see clearly. He shot at me. Up there, along the road, near the edge of the spinney.'
With a look of horror on her face, Laura rose and went across to the french windows.
'He shot at me twice,' the sergeant was saying, 'and the second time he got me in the hand.'
Miss Bennett suddenly rose, and put her hand to her mouth. 'I tried to get the gun away from him,' the sergeant went on, 'but I was hampered with my hand, you see –'
'Yes. What happened?' the inspector prompted him.
'His finger was on the trigger,' the sergeant gasped, and it went off. He's shot through the heart. He's dead.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sergeant Cadwallader's announcement was greeted with a stunned silence. Laura put her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry, then slowly moved back to the desk chair and sat, staring at the floor. Mrs Warwick lowered her head and leaned on her stick. Starkwedder paced about the room, looking distracted.
'Are you sure he's dead?' the inspector asked.
